


Amnesia

by Oh_Toasty



Category: Avengers
Genre: #coulsonlives, After New York, Amnesia, Amnesic Phil, F/F, Filing error, Identity confusion, M/M, Not Agents Of SHIELD compliant, Paperwork problems, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:43:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Toasty/pseuds/Oh_Toasty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson wakes up in a hospital room three months after the Battle of New York, only he's known as John Doe and can't help them with his real name, not since he doesn't know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amnesia

His eyes opened and he took in the white washed walls. Eyes darted around and his body tensed despite the pain it caused his chest. Then, finally, he registered the beeping of machines and realized he was in a hospital. 

Slapping his hand around in the area he knew a nurse call button would be, he tried to remember how he got there. Nothing came to him in fact it wasn't just his arrival he couldn't remember, before he could panic a nurse walked in. 

"Hello," she said sweetly, "I'm glad to see you awake, it sure has been awhile."

"How long," he asked, or at least tried to it came out as more of a mumble. 

"You hush now," She demanded. "Im gonna give you some ice chips and then the doctor will be right in to ask you some questions."

He nodded, it was slow and weary and he wondered why his body was so sluggish. And what was that pain in his chest? He didn't get his answers instead he got ice shoveled into his mouth and (after five minutes) a doctor. The nurse went off to the side of room and the Doctor took her place on the stool. 

"Hello," The doctor greeted him, her voice was light and lilting. "I'm Doctor Bakshi, I have been your primary physician while you've been here. I'm sure you have questions but before I can answer those I have a couple for you. Is that all right?"

He nodded once more deciding to save his voice for her other questions. 

"Alright, Can you tell me your name? We have you on file as a John Doe."

"My name-" he began before stopping dead in his tracks. "I don't know my name!"

"Alright, don't worry there was always a possibility this could happen. Your injury resulted in a lack of oxygen flowing to the brain. Fortunately this didn't last for very long and you have a high chance of recovering memories." She paused, "Can you tell me what you do remember?"

"I remember how to do everything, I can talk and I remember things like how to work a microwave. I just don't remember my life. I don't- I don't know myself."

"Its alright," Dr. Bakshi soothed him after muttering, "Generalized Dissociative Amnesia," under her breath. "Nurse Daily and myself will try to help you while you are here recovering. Hopefully by the time you are released you'll remember something."

He nodded mutely. He couldn't even think about what would happen to him if he hadn't remembered. There would be no way for him live if couldn't at least know his name and get a job.

Dr. Bakshi rose to her feet, "I have to go now but I'll be back to discuss this in more detail soon."

"Wait," He rasped, "My questions?"

"Ahh, my apologies I had forgotten." The doctor said with a faint blush. "Still I must hurry so only a couple right now."

"Where am I? Why am I here and how long have I been here?" He asked. 

"You are currently in the Bellevue Hospital Center in New York City. You have been here in a coma for three months ever since the Battle of New York where you somehow suffered a chest wound and ended up transferred here some how nobody really knows what hospital you came from though the paperwork was lost."

With that Dr. Bakshi left the room and Nurse Daily came back over to him. "Alright, let's see if we can figure out some kind of name for you. What letters do you feel the most fond of when you think about names?"

He hesitated, "There's a couple. I like the letters N, C, and P."

"Alright," Nurse Daily beamed. "Now do you like any N names, there's Nathan, Nate, Nico, Noah or anything else you can think of." 

But he was already shaking his head, "No those aren't me and I don't think C is either."

Nurse Daily pouted, "Darn, I'd had you pegged for a Cole."

He laughed and ignored the strange feeling rushing through him. Something about the word Cole caught his attention but he could tell that it wasn't his name. His name didn't start with a C. 

"Anyway," Nurse Daily continued, "That leaves P as Paul, Phil, Peter-"

"That's it!" He cried. "Phil, I think it's Phil!"

Nurse Daily nodded and wrote something down on her clipboard. "All right now do you know your last name or do you want to make one up?"

Phil's nose scrunched up. "I don't know what it is but I'll use Carson I guess."

"Alright then," Nurse Daily chirped. "I'll go wrote this down in your file. You get some rest and we can talk more tomorrow."

Phil did as she had asked and nodded of to sleep. When he awoke it was the next day and Nurse Daily was there to fill him in on the past couple months. She told him all about the battle of New York and how the Avengers had saved the day. When he left that evening Phil was left staring at the the newspaper clipping she had brought him wondering why he couldn't tear his eyes away from the superheroes, especially the Black Widow and Hawkeye.

Another week passed before Phil was cleared to leave and in that time nothing more was discovered about him. Still Dr. Bakshi and Nurse Daily had taken a shine to him and helped him out when it was time to leave. The nurse told him about a program Stark (as in Tony Stark himself and not Stark Industries, why did he find that so interesting) had started. There was a shelter to house people whose homes had been destroyed in the battle. Of course it wasn't permanent and people could only stay there if they were actively searching for a home. Phil had been down trodden upon hearing this after all he had no way to pay for a home he had no bank account nothing. Then Dr. Bakshi had told him that due to his amnesia the program would be willing to place him with a host family and use the money that would've gone for his food to pay for his PT. Phil had, obviously, agreed which is why on his first day out of the hospital he found himself standing in a strangers lung room. 

In front of him stood a couple which was older than him (no that he was sure how old he was, he was simply guessing he was about forty-five). The two women, Sarah and April, appeared to be in their seventies and Phil found himself smiling slightly as they had answered the door and ushered him in. 

"You must be Phil," said the one with her hair piled in a bun, "I'm Sarah. This is my wife April. We're so excited to have you staying with us."

"I'm glad," Phil had replied, "Thank you for letting me stay here. I promise it's just until I can find a job and earn some money."

April glared at him, "You are staying here for as long as you need to, don't you dare overwork yourself just so you can get your own place. Besides," she added face softening, "Sarah and I don't mind the company, you'll keep us young."

"I am young," Sarah had replied with a raised brow. 

April just waved her away and gestured for Phil to follow her to back towards his room. As he set his bag down Sarah spoke, "You make yourself comfortable."

He did. Within the next year Phil (in between work at the library and PT) became close friends with his house mates. Once he had finished his physical therapy Phil began to pick up odd jobs around the neighbor hood and soon became a part of the close knit community. He almost felt as if he had his life back, except he didn't really. At night he would lie in bed and he would remember that he would never have it back because he couldn't remember what it had been like. At times he would think about the injury that he knocked his heart and he would wonder how he had been hurt so badly. 

Still, during the day Phil had a good grip on his life as Phil Carson until one day when it suddenly went spiraling out of control. It had started out like any other day, he had gone to work and then on his way home he had text April and Sarah asking if they wanted him to pick anything up. When April replied that yes, she need some apricot yogurt, Phil had shrugged and stopped by the grocery store. 

That's where it all went wrong. He had just reached check out in the small convenience store when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he heard the click of someone cocking back the hammer on a gun. He set his yogurt down on the counter and slowly raised his hands in synch with the cashier. 

"Turn around," a gruff voice barked and Phil obeyed cautiously.

The cool metal of a gun pressed against Phil's head but he ignored that in favor of staring past that into the thief's eyes. They were a bright blue and Phil was suddenly reminded of another pair of blue eyes that he knew he had seen before but he couldn't place where. It seemed to come from a time before he memory began and he wondered if maybe he had once had someone after all. Maybe he had been loved and the owner of those eyes whether they be lover or friend or brother simply hadn't heard about the amnesic man in the hospital. Then he was ripped out of those thoughts by the robber. 

"You," He was saying as he pulled the gun away to point at the cashier. "Open the register."

The slight shift of the weapon was all Phil needed, not that he knew that. Before his mind could register what his body was doing Phil had moved. He jerked the robbers arm around so that the gun was pointed at the ground. As the other man began to struggle Phil thrust his knee up into his groin and pulled the gun away. Pointing it at the thief, his hand shaking as he took in what he'd done, he barked out a command. 

"Call the police."

Behind him he could hear the scrambling of the cashier going for the phone, but he couldn't look lest the thief make a move. Behind him he could hear the squealing of the cashier but he ignored it in favor of focusing on the thief. Taking his tie Phil looped it around the man's arms and then pressed him to his knees. Once that was done he gently set the gun aside and stared at his hands wondering what he'd done. How had he done that? Was he remembering things from before the Battle of New York, is that how he knew those moves? But if that was the case who was he, why did he know that? 

Sirens wailed in the distance and tore Phil from his thoughts. It would do no good to think about it now (and he was thinking about it, the pulsing pain in his chest would never let him forget. He would always wonder what had left that painful mark on him.) not unless he wanted to break down now. 

The police entered the room and Phil found that he was to numb to care. Instead he listened politely an did as they asked with out thought. He had used up all of his fight on the robber and then on quashing his painful questions. Now all that was left of him was an empty hull. 

In the police station, Phil answered the questions he had been asked and then asked some of his own. Would they be so kid as to leave him anonymous? He wasn't prepared for the media that he knew would arrive with the story. When the officer raised a brow Phil continued, "It's just that, Because of my amnesia I live with two elderly women and I don't want them to be disturbed by it."

At that the officer had agreed and sent Phil home with the promise that, "Nobody will ever know who you are!"

As he entered the living room (still bone weary) where April and Sarah were the first thought he had was, 'I forgot the yogurt.'

Oddly enough to that was what broke him. He fell to him knees and sobbed. The story of the night fell out of him and then he babbled, "I just want to know who I am! I thought I could just move on but I can't!"

Besides him Sarah sent up a soft prayer and Aprils gnarled old hands clenched into fists as she said, "We'll figure this out Phil. The three of us together, we can do this."

They started the next day, Phil called up the nearest martial arts place and asked when he could bring by a tape and have the style identified. The answer of anytime had him half way across town in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately all he got out of that meeting was, "Looks military."

Still it was a start, and if Sarah had a brother who happened to be a veteran well, that was just convenient. Sarah's brother, Matthew had taken one look at that tape and then another at Phil and bit his lip. At Phil's raised brow he had released it and breathed deeply, "That kind of ferocity, I'd say you used to be a Ranger. However there's a little something else in there that makes me wonder what you got into after the Rangers."

Phil ignored that last part, he wasn't sure if it was something he could deal with, and so he didn't want to know. Instead he latched onto the first part, "Rangers? Alright, I can work with that."

And he did, Google was a useful tool and Phil used it to search for information. He started out simple, a quick type of the name Phil and the word Rangers. Then, after a little bit of calculation he typed in the year 1987 (it seemed logical that no matter how log his tour had been he was still enlisted at that point). Four names popped up. 

Phillip F. Adler - Deceased. 

Well, at least that narrowed it down he obviously wasn't dead.

Phillip S. Miller - Honorable Discharge. 

That didn't seem unlikely and Phil decided that it warranted a closer look. However, clicking the link simply brought him to a web page where the first thing he saw was age Sixty-two and a picture of an old bearded man.

That left two more names and Phil slid his cursor down to the second to last. 

Phillip J. Coulson - Records classified. 

A dissatisfied sigh escaped his lips, there was no information to gain there. Instead he would have to use the last name and the process of elimination.

Phillip D. Rayde - Dishonorable Discharge. 

A closer look reveals that there was now at this man was him. There was simply no possible way that those huge beefy arms and shoulders had once belonged in his small stature. No, what this meant was that somehow he had to learn more about Phillip J Coulson. 

He told Sarah and April of course and they swore to do a little research this week while Phil was at work. Well, Sarah swore and April cackled, "You weren't even that far off with your last name. Phil, you were so close."

The next week continued as his life had for the last year, he worked and spent time with the girls. The only differences were at night they reported what they'd found (not much, his birthday was July 8, imagine that) and when he went to bed. At night his dreams were plagued with those haunting blue eyes and whispers. 

"Come on Coulson." 

"I love you Phil."

"Please, I always hit my target."

Other nights were filled with screams and the red of blood. 

"Oh, God please, I'll tell you anything just stop."

It was after one of those long tiring nights when he returned home to find a strange man in the living room with Sarah and April. He was dark skinned and wore a black leather coat and eye patch. 

"What's going on?" Phil asked cautiously as he perched on the edge of Sarah's seat and took the proffered tea cup. 

There was no response and Phil looked up expectantly to see the man was staring at him with open mouth wonder. Phil blinked slowly but it was enough to drag the other man out of his trance. "So," the man said at last. "You don't know who I am?"

"No," Phil said shaking his head, "Can I ask what you're doing here?"

"Let's go for a walk," The man said standing up, "I think you should be the first to hear this."

Phil rose to his feet and set his tea cup aside, after all there was no way he would pass up a chance to figure out who he was (and that had to be what this was, there was no other reason for them to get a visitor). 

They walked outside and continued in silence for a few moments. The man was the one who spoke first. 

"I suppose you want to know who I am?"

Phil shook his head, "No, I want to know who I am."

"Good to see you haven't lost your sass. My name is Nick Fury by the way." The man said after he snorted. "Anyway, I came down here because the IP address who kept on researching Phil Coulson. Now imagine my surprise when I learn that the agent i thought had died is amnesic and living with two old ladies."

"Agent?" Phil asked with a raised brow. 

Fury sighed, "I should've known you'd catch that. I suppose I could start there. I work for a government agency called SHIELD, you used to work there also. In fact, you were my second in command. That all changed when Loki attacked, he stabbed you, killed you actually though I guess you were revived. We lost your body some where along the way, a filing error. Now here I am learning that you're not actually dead."

Phil hummed mildly, "Do you think I could see this SHIELD, and see if a familiar place will bring back any memories?"

"Yeah Phil, I can bring you to the Helicarrier tomorrow. First i have to make sure none of those damn Avengers will be on board. If they are Stark will just kidnap you and take you to the tower before you can see the place. Now let's go back before your room mates think I killed you."

 

That night Phil was even more haunted than usual. He saw those blue eyes but he also saw bright red hair. He heard that deep voice paired with a smoky alto. 

"I hate Budapest." The man's voice said. 

"Shut up, it isn't that bad."

"Now you've jinxed us."

Still even with those dreams he couldn't quite remember what had happened. Where did those voices come from?

When he awoke the next day he went to work as he always did but he found he was unable to focus. All he wanted was to be at the SHIELD headquarters and trying to trigger his memories. 

When he finally got home Fury guided him to a vehicle which then carried them to a private helicopter at the airport. The short ride through the air was filled with a nervous tension despite Phil keeping his face from showing any of it. 

He was shocked, to say the least, when they landed on what appeared to be some sort of barge out on the ocean. Really it was almost disappointing to see that this was a secret head quarters. That was before it lifted out of the ocean and into the sky before they had made their way inside. The halls were suspiciously empty and Phil had the sudden feeling that Fury had done that just for him. Just so that word of his life wouldn't get out if he never regained his memories. 

"Anything," Fury asked as they passed through the hall. 

Shaking his head Phil responded, "Not yet. I need to see more."

The other man nodded and threw open another set of doors Phil stepped towards instantly to investigate the strange glass cage before him. 

"It was built to contain the hulk, though after Loki we know it works on gods." 

Phil stepped away from it and then shivered when he got closer to the wall and his scar throbbed. "Did something happen right here? I don't like this spot."

Fury's head snapped towards him, "That's where you got stabbed by Loki."

"Oh," he murmured a the memory came floating into his skull.

The rush of heat and pain and then as he slid down the wall nothing. A few casual remarks to Loki as he contemplated the gun before him. Finally pulling the trigger and uttering those words, "So that's what it does."

Aloud Phil said, "Of course getting stabbed is the first memory I get back."

"Glad to see the tour is working," Fury laughed. 

They continued to walk around and The slow trickle of memories continued, Stark offering to fly him to Portland (why did he feel so much amusement at that, obviously he was missing something) embarrassing himself in front of Captain America, and just his every day life in the helicarrier. 

"Nick," Phil began because at one point he had gone from Fury to Nick (probably around the same time he remembered walking in on him having sex). "What is Strike Team Delta?"

"So you don't remember that? Of course not, you couldn't remember the people who are most important to you that'd be to easy." Fury grumbled. "Strike Team Delta is, was-"  
He never got the chance to finish because at that moment a broken voice behind him called out, "Phil."

He turned and his eyes landed on those baby blues the same ones from his dreams. "Who are you," he breathed but nobody heard. 

"Barton," Fury yelled, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Tears appeared in Barton's eyes, "You've been alive this whole time? And, you didn't tell Tasha and me?"

Phil opened his mouth an then closed it again; he could tell that this man was attached to him (after all his voice was the same as the one that'd whispered I love you in his dream) and nothing he would say would be the right thing. What do you say to a man who was obviously your lover when you can't remember him? Sure, he could recall the twang of a bow as he fired it (and how odd it was to realize that this was Hawkeye) and the huskiness of his voice, but he still couldn't remember the inside jokes that had passed through their lips and the soft moments shared between them.

Fury seemed to understand this because he softened, "Clint, this isn't the same man you knew. He's different now."

"And that's an excuse?" Clint cried in frustration. 

"No," Fury replied, "But amnesia is."

That drew Clint up short, "Amnesia? So he doesn't remember us? Then why is he here?"

"We were attempting to see if anything would trigger a memory. We've had minimal success." Fury answers and Clint's eyes darted over to Phil's begging to be one of the things he'd remembered. 

Feeling guilty Phil spoke, "I remember Loki and being stabbed, I've had few dreams where you and a red head said a few things, something about Budapest, and I remember something happens to you when Loki showed up. You were-"

Phil cut himself off brow furrowing. He didn't know what had happened to Clint until suddenly he did. He remembered the terror in his heart when Fury told him Clint was compromised, his anger and hatred for Loki, calling Natasha of her mission. Most of all he remembered those moments before Clint had left for Tesseract Duty. The soft press of Clint's lips against his own. 

"- Compromised," He finished when he noticed their expectant looks. 

Clint looked away, it was painful for him to see his past lover so, empty. Instead he pulled out his cell phone. "I'm calling Tony, we're moving him back to the tower and trying to jog his memory there."

"I suppose I don't have a choice," Fury conceded. "Phil you better call April and let her know you're moving out."

Out of the corner of his eye Phil saw Clint freeze and another flash of hurt crossed his face. Phil knew how it sounded and cursed Fury internally. He may not recognize Clint but it was obvious they'd been in love and he didn't want him to think he was with a woman now. 

Clint walked off and Fury leaned in close as Phil pulled out his phone, "We have an hour to finish up here. Stark will go and get your things first."

Phil simply ignored him and dialed April's number. 

"Hello," she answered the phone, "What do you want Phil, I was having fun Sarah."

He closed his eyes momentarily, "I didn't need to know that. Anyway, I am, apparently moving out at least for a while."

"Wait what," a voice yelped in the background and Phil smiled as he realized he'd been on speaker phone. 

"Turns out I knew the Avengers?" He replied sheepishly. "So don't be concerned when the moving company shows up, okay bye."

He slammed his finger down on the end call button even a they began to chatter. They would want to kill him later but he didn't have time to listen to them right now. He had to finish his tour of the helicarrier. The hour flew by and before he knew it Phil was seated in front of the Avengers in their home. 

He pointed to Thor, "New Mexico."

"Aye, Son of Coul it is a relief to see your retain at least some memory." Thor said enthusiastically. 

Phil shrugged, "I didn't remember until I saw you."

Clint walked over and placed a hand on Phil's shoulder, "Let him get some rest guys we can talk tomorrow."

The next month and a half flew by and Phil regained memory rapidly. He recalled babysitting Stark and threatening him with a taser, interrupting his celebration with Pepper to give him the Avengers file, his childhood (that was regained when Fury gave him a box of his old Captain America memorabilia), and practically every thing else except for his relationship with Clint. 

Strangely enough, it was Steve who jogged his memory by telling them a story. He was filling the Avengers in on what had happened while SHIELD/Hydra was looking for hi when he mentioned it, the very same thing that had started his relationship with Clint: people are uncomfortable with public displays of affection.

Suddenly Phil was back in time to before he and Clint were together. Always a professional, Phil ignored his feelings for Clint and they remained friends only. That is until one fateful op when they were being chased and Phil pulled him into an alley way and said those very word before kissing Clint. Which would have fine, had it only been a distraction. Instead he was the one who grew distracted and he kissed Clint far longer than he needed to. When Phil had pulled away and began to form an apology Clint had pulled him back in using his tie and kissed him again. 

"Phil," a voice said in his ear breaking him out of his reverie. He blinked and was surprised to see that the Avengers (sans Clint) had left the room and the two of them were alone alone on the couch. "Are you alright?"

"People are uncomfortable with public displays of affection," Phil whispered and felt Clint tense besides him. He could almost hear the question running through Clint's head: Does he remember?

Phil quickly answered that by turning his was even more so that his lips would meet his archer's. The kiss was warm and sweet and it spoke of the history behind them and the future before them. 

And with that all was as it should be.


End file.
